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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

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North To The Future [Chapter 10: Scar Tissue]

The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, discussions of sex, and you don’t get any plot hints this time you just have to read and suffer and yes there will be ANGSTTTTT!!!!

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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You’ve counted the scars on his chest until you know them by heart. There are twelve exactly, which feels significant; it’s the last week of the twelfth month of 1999, it’s the end, it’s the beginning. You read them with your eyes and your fingertips and your lips, these knots of corporal memory that form a constellation, not the shape of a hero—Hercules, Orion, Perseus, Achilles—but the footprints of ghosts.

The Juneau magnet has joined the rest of his collection, places he blew into like a storm and then abandoned, wreckage in his wake, downed trees and snapped powerlines and shingles ripped from roofs, finally at peace in his absence and yet somehow less. There is a jar on top of the refrigerator that already has your half of the money for the San Diego trip squirreled away in it. Aegon puts in a little at a time—a quarter here, a five-dollar bill there—and yet there’s never any doubt that he’s committed to it. It’s the same way he is with you. There are no grand gestures, no expensive gifts or intoxicating declarations. There are only small, feather-light moments as faint as the lines in your palm. You could stack up a million of them and they would never feel heavy. They would never feel like a cage.

Aegon is an open door, and together you are a dream: whispers and guitar strings, tangled sheets and refracted light, snow falling soundlessly beyond frosted windows, fog so thick it erases the stars.

~~~~~~~~~~

“How dare you,” Heather says when you enter Caribou Crossings. It’s Wednesday, December 29th. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor and surrounded by boxes, an island in a sea of Juneau-themed souvenirs. “You float in here on a cloud while I’m sad, single, all alone in the world except for these hideous snow globes.” She holds one aloft for emphasis. “Why would anyone want a snow globe with a salmon in it? A salmon?”

You smile. You smile a lot these days. “Tragic.”

“No pets in need of your medical expertise?”

“Not really. Ms. Larson’s box turtle had a shell fracture, but now I’m free until 2:30.”

“How’s the making Cobainbies going?”

“No babies,” you insist. “Not of any variety.” Aegon as a father, as a husband? The prospect is horrifying. When you’re reminded of this—of the impossibility of a future beyond the next three months—you try to bury it like…well, like a body in a lake; each time it surfaces, you tie another stone around its ankle and sink it back down into the darkness.

“Is that what cracked Trent’s already less-than-impressive brain? You and Aegon?”

“Trent doesn’t know about Aegon. He just thinks we’re taking things slow. Honestly, I tried to break up with him about a week ago and…he got scary.”

Heather puts down the salmon snow globe and looks at you. “What did he do?”

“The same thing he did at the bar the other night. He was like…aggressive. Intimidating. But also apologetic and oblivious. It’s really disorienting. It’s hard for me to figure out if he’s…” What’s the right word? Dangerous. But you’re not sure if you can say that to Heather. “Seriously angry. I don’t want him to go all Stone Cold Steve Austin on Aegon.” Or me.

“That moron,” Heather sighs. “I’m so sorry. I’ll talk to him.”

“Uh, don’t do that.”

“No, it’s fine, I know how to put it in a way he’ll understand.” She stands, hands on her hips. “It’s just…you know…when Trent played football, if he was bored or pissed off he could run around and tackle people and knock them unconscious, and that’s how he learned to deal with things. And now he doesn’t have that anymore. He’s got friends and hobbies and a job, but I don’t think he knows what comes next. That happens to everyone, right? We all wake up one day and realize we’re adults and we’re supposed to have life figured out but we just…don’t. Trent’s a dumbass, and he needs to leave you alone if that’s what you want, and I’ll make it happen. But I don’t think he would ever intentionally hurt somebody.”

“I hope not,” you say softly.

Heather smirks. “So, are you enjoying all the super kinky sex with that Greek boy? Has he bent you into a pretzel fifty different ways? Has he dislocated your hips yet?”

“It’s not really like that,” you tell her. “It’s intense, but it’s…I don’t know. Different.”

The truth dawns on her, sunlight sparkling on waves. “When he leaves, you want to go with him.”

“Yes, but I can’t.”

“Why not? They need vets everywhere.”

“There’s more to it than that.”

“Look, obviously I don’t want you to leave. I’d be freaking heartbroken. Those four years of vet school were bad enough, and I always knew you were coming back. But if you feel like there’s something else out there that you need to experience…” She gestures vaguely, meaning the world beyond Juneau. “I would want you to have that chance. And then maybe you could end up back here one day knowing that this is really what you need after all.”

You shake your head, watching flurries wheel through the frigid wind outside. “My parents would be devastated. I don’t have any siblings, there’s nobody else, there’s just me. And Aegon…” He’s been running for six years and he’ll never stop. “He’s not the type to settle down.”

“Maybe he’ll get the whole alcoholic homeless rockstar thing out of his system and be totally normal by the time he hits thirty,” Heather says hopefully.

You can see it in a flash too sudden to hide from yourself: a house by the beach, white-blond children chasing Sunfyre around the backyard, golden-sun days and hot chocolate at night, cooking in the kitchen together like your parents always do. Aegon wouldn’t even have to work. I could still be a vet and he could take care of the kids and perform in some local rock band once or twice a week...and we could all be happy. You can’t believe that—not for more than a few reckless seconds, anyway—but you need to kill this conversation before it kills you. “Sure, maybe.”

“We should do something fun,” Heather pivots cheerfully. “While Aegon’s still here. While you both are. It’s the start of a new millennium, bitch! If we were characters on Friends or Buffy or whatever, we would be doing something fun and glamorous. We wouldn’t be sitting here in grandma sweaters surrounded by boxes of salmon snow globes.”

You laugh, although you are admittedly partial to grandma sweaters. “What do you want, a New Year’s Eve party? Flutes of champagne, glitter and fireworks? People making out at midnight?”

She grins. “That’s exactly what I want.”

“I could probably make that happen, actually,” you realize. “My parents keep bringing up the idea of having people over. They love any excuse to ply guests with food and rock music. I said I just wanted to watch ABC 2000 Today with them and Aegon.”

“Great! You can still watch ABC 2000 Today, just with thirty of your closest friends.”

“You are well aware that I possess, at the absolute maximum, like four friends.”

“Everyone is friends with everyone on New Year’s Eve. And guess what?”

“What?”

Heather’s face is determined, insolent, fierce. “We’re not going to invite Trent.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“New Year’s Eve?” Aegon echoes doubtfully. You’re curled up on the couch together watching the X-Files, Sunfyre sprawled across your lap, your head on Aegon’s bare chest; he has one hand in your hair, the other holding a rum and Coke. He doses himself with it like morphine, but he is far from drunk. He’s seemed better since he almost drowned. You wonder if it reminded him that alive is something he enjoys being.

“Yeah. My parents are so excited about it. They’re trying to plan a menu, but my dad has literally fifteen different appetizers he wants to make.”

“Sounds like he’s handling retirement well.”

“He likes to stay busy.” You sit up to look at Aegon. The light of the television flickers on his face, but his eyes are glassy and far away. As far as Miami? As far as six years ago? “So? What do you think?”

“About what?”

“The New Year’s Eve party, obviously.”

He shrugs, sips his rum and Coke, licks his lips slowly. Then he comes back to you, a moon growing full again after starving away. “Totally, Appletini. Let’s do it.”

“Yay!” You are shocked by your own enthusiasm; it’s very unlike you. Sunfyre’s tail thumps against the couch in approval. You turn Aegon’s face and kiss him, feeling the strange barely-there smile of his lips on yours. “And Trent won’t even be there, so we don’t have to be subtle about anything. We can hang out together, dance, cuddle, feed each other Swedish meatballs on cute little toothpicks…”

“Sneak up to your bedroom while everyone else is busy watching the countdown in Times Square…”

You giggle, settling against Aegon’s chest again, nestling into him. He’s warm and pliable and fits with you like the interwoven opalescent threads of the Northern Lights. His free hand pulls you closer; the ice cubes in his glass clink. The jar on top of the refrigerator gets fuller each day. “Everything is falling into place. Everything is going to be perfect.”

“Perfect,” Aegon agrees; but you can hear that he’s far away again.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Bitch,” Heather gasps when she sees you, awed and incredulous. She’s carrying a massive tray of miniature quiches: smoked salmon, ham and cheddar, crab and tomato. “Bitchhhhh!”

You’re wearing a red dress you bought for a winter formal during vet school and haven’t touched since. You went with a sweet soulful boy from Iowa who you felt absolutely nothing for. He would have made a good husband, you realize now; he would have come home every night and helped the kids with their math homework and spent his weekends fixing fences and grilling steaks. You wonder if people like that are born without any darkness in them, or if they just learn to drain it from their veins like poisoned blood. You wonder if there is some reservoir of malignant self-destruction in everyone just waiting to breach the levees. “I look okay?”

“You look delicious. You look sinfully slutty. I wish I was into women, that’s how good you look.”

“Thanks, Heather.” You have lingerie on to match. You’re red all the way down: satin, lace, blood. You’re even wearing strappy crimson heels. It’s something you can’t stop thinking about: Aegon slipping every layer off of you later. You take the tray of quiches and beckon Heather inside.

The house is decorated—to a truly excessive degree—with balloons, banners, and confetti. Welcome, 2000! one banner reads. We hope the Y2K bug doesn’t destroy civilization! Your mom and dad are frenetically readying appetizers in the kitchen. When they finish each dish, you bring it out to the dining room table: deviled eggs, crab dip and toast points, ham salad sandwiches, stuffed jalapeno peppers, chicken liver mousse crostini, reindeer sausages, bacon-wrapped scallops, Swedish meatballs, homemade Rice Krispies Treats, Tongass Forest Cookies, a towering Baked Alaska. There are chilled bottles of wine, beer, and champagne, beads of condensation snaking down the glass. The ABC 2000 Today special is on tv, but guests are only half-watching. Your dad’s newest Red Hot Chili Peppers album is spinning on the record player; to you, their songs sound like California, or at least what you imagine California to be. The plucky guitar notes of Scar Tissue tiptoe through the house like footsteps in sand.

There are people in the dining room, people in the living room, people huddled in their parkas and smoking cigarettes around the crackling firepit in the backyard. They’re talking about 2000, of course, and the presidential election next year, and the Olympics, and the internet, and their own mundane tribulations: knee replacements, gallbladder removals, hyperactive grandchildren, marriages and divorces. But they’re talking about the Ice Fisher too.

“Who do you think it could be?” you hear Dale asking some of his bowling league buddies on the other side of the living room. They’re all broad, bearded men in flannel and jeans, guzzling beers and weather-beaten by their work as fishermen, loggers, oil riggers. “Ex-military? Some drifter? Someone just not right in the head? You know, I saw this 60 Minutes episode about a brain disease—what was it called, Earl? CTZ? CTE?—and athletes can get it from having concussions all the time. Boxers and football players and such. You think something like that could make someone violent…?”

Heather is working her way through a gargantuan portion of crab dip. Kimmie and Brad are practically mounting each other on your parents’ couch. Beside them, Joyce is grimacing as she tries to lose herself in a fantast novel with a mostly-naked cowboy on the front cover. She only smiles when Rob brings her a plate of appetizers. You’re on your third glass of bubbly, festive champagne. You keep glancing at the front door.

“They have to catch him soon, right?” Kimmie says in between sloppy kisses: loud smacking noises, lots of tongue. “I mean, he’s killed five people. Five! That’s so many!”

Joyce flips a page. “The police called in the FBI. That’s got to lead to a breakthrough soon.”

“I hope so.” Kimmie shudders. “It’s constant now…I worry when I go out to check the mail, when I put gas in my Land Cruiser, when I’m carrying groceries into the house…I feel like he could be anywhere. Like he’s lurking in every shadowy corner just waiting to grab me.”

“I think you’re safe,” Rob says with a smirk, amused but grim. “No one who goes to Ursa Minor gets killed. Have you guys noticed that? None of the victims had ever been to the bar as far as I know. The Ice Fisher must do his stalking in a different part of town.”

“Weird coincidence,” Joyce mutters.

“Guess I need to start going to Ursa Minor,” Brad says, grinning. “I could use some good luck.” Kimmie squeals with laughter as he paws at her, greedy and frivolous. You think: Please don’t leave body fluids on the couch, please don’t leave body fluids on the couch, please don’t leave body fluids on the couch…

“Why are the Bee Gees on tv?” Heather complains. “Who wanted that?”

Kimmie asks you: “Can Brad and I borrow your bedroom?”

“No, Kimmie.”

“Not the bed. Just the room. We’ll put a towel down on the floor.”

“Boundaries, Kimmie,” you plead.

“Fine,” she relents, sulking. Kimmie is wearing a glittery white dress and looks very, very young; her eyes are large and blameless, and her hair is secured in two voluminous pigtails. There’s a rhinestone crown on her head that reads Happy New Year! “Is Aegon on his way?”

“Oh yeah, he’ll be here any minute.” You steal another glimpse of the front door, but there are no consequent knocks. You check the clock on the wall. 10:30 p.m.

“He’s driving?” Heather says around a mouthful of crab dip, thin eyebrows raised. “He never drives.” Because he’s always drinking, she kindly leaves out.

“He told me he wanted to this morning. He’s been picking up extra shifts at work on whatever boats need another man. Holiday pay is double and we’re saving up for a trip to San Diego, you know.” There are polite—skeptical? pitying?—murmurs of agreement. “He didn’t know when he would get off, so he said I should focus on preparing for the party here and he would head over as soon as he had time to shower and walk Sunfyre. Anyway, he was on a boat all day and I was here helping to make deviled eggs until my hands felt like they were going to fall off.”

“Huh. I hope he’s not passed out in a ditch somewhere.”

“He’s not,” you say, a little more harshly than you mean to. He’s been getting better.

There is a knock at the door, and the closest person—Mark Morehouse from the pawn shop—opens it. It’s not Aegon. It’s Trent. He’s carrying a cheesecake the size of a Pekingese.

“Oh no,” Heather breathes. Kimmie, Joyce, and Rob frown down at their drinks.

“Hey, Trent!” Brad says, blithely unaware of the shift in mood.

Trent, wearing a very stately black button-up shirt, matching blazer, and khaki pants, looks around the room. He sees you, mouths wow, and then gives a tentative wave. He doesn’t come anywhere close to you. He puts his cheesecake on the dining room table and then goes to join Gary and Matt by the record player. Your mom and dad soon appear to greet him, resting their hands on his massive shoulders, asking about how his parents are doing and whether he’s had any luck with the Forest Service. Trent tells them that he finally got an interview that’s scheduled for next week. They reply with congratulations, casting you furtive, appraising glances. Did you invite him? Their eyes say. Do you want him here?

“Do you want me to get rid of him?” Heather asks you. “I didn’t tell him about the party, I swear. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Of course she wouldn’t; but Juneau is too small for secrets, that feels more true every day. Heather didn’t need to tell Trent, and neither did your parents. Maybe he heard about it through Matt or Gary, or he eavesdropped on a conversation in the Foodland, or someone mentioned it to his parents and they suggested he go without knowing he wasn’t supposed to be in attendance. However it happened doesn’t matter. The damage is done.

Heather’s question reverberates in your skull. Do you want me to get rid of him? “No,” you say. “Not yet, anyway. I don’t want to cause a scene in front of everyone.” Everyone but Aegon, you think, and you wouldn’t call yourself concerned yet but you are growing annoyed, little by little like how a clock ticks towards a new hour.

Joyce sniffs. “Hopefully he stays over there.”

And Trent does keep his distance. Now Dale is congratulating him about his interview. “That’s a great sign, Trent, a really great sign! Getting your foot in the door is the hardest part. I’ll call over and put in a good word for you. I still have a bunch of stuff from when I worked as a park ranger…boots, compasses, trekking poles, snowshoes…I’ll bring a box over for you.”

“Aw, Dale!” Trent appears to be genuinely touched. “Thanks, bro! You’re the best!”

“Sorry, what’s wrong with Trent?” Brad asks, brow crinkled, one arm slung around Kimmie. “Did I miss something?”

“He’s just a little obsessed with our gorgeous crimson hostess,” Heather explains, gesturing to you. “Obsessed in a pushy, idiotic, not-flattering way.”

Rob adds: “And he occasionally turns into the Hulk.”

“Maybe Trent’s the Ice Fisher,” Brad whispers conspiratorially, and then bursts out laughing. Everyone joins him except you. You can’t really blame them. Trent is a local hero: a football star, a reliable employee, the son of a normal and respected family, the wearer of his mane of lustrous hair, the object of countless women’s affection, the man who dragged Aegon out of the channel when he nearly drowned. A few mutilated Taco Bell tables aren’t going to change that. An occasional verbal outburst—and from a former athlete no less, fiery and forceful by necessity and thus swiftly forgiven, like a champion thoroughbred prone to biting—isn’t going to change that.

But they haven’t seen everything I have. They haven’t felt it.

You stand. “I’m going to go call Aegon.”

Upstairs in your bedroom, you assess your reflection in the mirror lined with photographs: the past and the future, friends and family and that magazine cutout of the Ford Mustang convertible barreling down the Pacific Coast Highway. You touch up your hair and makeup, then admire your dress. It occurs to you that almost everyone downstairs is wearing black or white or silver, cold wintery colors, New Year’s colors. You are the only one in red. When you got ready hours ago, you had felt powerful and sensual and elegant. You had imagined disappearing with Aegon into this room just after midnight, his hands skating up your thighs as cheers and toasts rumble through the floor. Now, when you imagine your exclamation-point red dress in a sea of cool, sleek shades of darkness and light, it strikes you as perhaps trying too hard. Desperate, even.

You pick up the phone on your nightstand and dial Aegon’s number. The line is busy.

Who would he be talking to? you wonder, perplexed. Everyone he knows is here.

You can’t drive over to pick him up; not until some of the champagne leaves your system, anyway. And you could never ask someone else to take you. You have no idea what you’ll find when you get there. You hang up the phone and stare down at it for a while.

So this is what it felt like. All those nights when Mom was waiting for Jesse to come home and he never did, all those times they had plans that he forgot. She’d be sitting on the couch or at the dining room table trying not to lose her mind as the hours crept by, and the whole time he’d be off getting wasted somewhere.

You physically shake your head to chase the vision away.

Aegon is going to be here. He has to be here. He’s been getting better.

“No luck?” Heather asks when you reappear downstairs, trying to sound neutral. You know she’s not actually neutral. You know exactly what she’s thinking.

“I’m sure he’ll be on his way soon.” You plop down on the couch next to Joyce and gaze at the television without really seeing it. You are vaguely aware of the entertainers flitting in and out of the little black box: Neil Diamond, Faith Hill, Enrique Iglesias, Billy Joel, Barry Manilow, NSYNC, Christina Aguilera, Aerosmith. Around you, the party rolls on. You chat less and less and consume only water. You’re losing your appetite, and you want to be able to drive by the time midnight strikes. It’s 11:00, and then 11:15, and then 11:30, and eventually 11:45. More Juneau residents filter in, but none of them are Aegon.

“You okay, ladybug?” your dad asks as he moseys by the couch, and you send him away with a peppy affirmation and a too-wide smile. Your mom tries next, with similar results. They know you aren’t okay, but they can’t say anything about it. Neither can Heather or Kimmie or Joyce. You become a blip on a hectic radar, an island in the South Pacific so small the rest of the world flies over it without even looking down. The house is hot and teeming with bodies: friends and lovers laughing together, touching each other, chatting, kissing lips and throats and cheeks. The living room suddenly feels like it’s on fire, like there’s searing smoke pouring into your lungs. You tell your friends you’re going to the bathroom so they’ll leave you alone, and then you squeeze through the crowd and flee out into the backyard, which is blessedly empty. Everyone else has crammed inside to watch the tv as the clock nears midnight. No one wants to miss the ball drop. You couldn’t care less.

You plod through the snow in your ridiculous red heels until you reach the firepit, and you stand there glaring into the blaze with your bare arms wrapped around you. There is light snow falling, but you don’t even feel cold. You feel like you’re burning from the inside out, like you’ve swallowed the same flames that are dancing across your face.

He’s not going to show up, you are certain now. He’s really not going to. And he knew that all along, which is why he didn’t want me to drive him.

You feel furious, you feel ruined, but most of all you just feel stupid. You’ve heard this story before. You were a part of it, you were built by it. And yet somehow you thought you could change the ending.

Wind howls through the evergreen trees, and now you are cold. You clutch yourself tighter, shivering viciously and covered in goosebumps. You’re stuck out here; there are tears spilling down your cheeks, black trails of mascara that will scream to anyone who sees you that you’ve been crying. Crying over Aegon. Crying over some fucking alcoholic loser who stood me up.

Of course, you don’t actually think he’s a loser. That’s the problem. Everyone seems to understand exactly who he is but you.

You hear the back door of the house swing open, and there are heavy footsteps crunching through the snow. You sniffle, trying to wipe the tears from your face with your fingers. You imagine that you’re only making it worse: stained foundation, smudged eyeliner, lip gloss worn away. You expect to see your dad when you turn around, but you don’t. You see Trent.

“Don’t freak out,” he says, and holds out your parka to you from several feet away. “I’m not trying to annoy you. I just saw you run outside and figured you might need this.”

“Did anyone else see me?”

“I don’t think so.”

You grab the parka from him, yank it on, and zip it shut. You sniffle some more, mopping tears from your face. The stars and moon are almost fully obscured by clouds; the only light in the world is fire. After a while, you ask Trent: “What did Heather tell you?”

“She said that you are a mature, responsible, logical person, and that if I want to have any shot with you at all then I have to be the same way. And she was totally right. Losing my temper is immature, being jealous is immature. So now I’m giving you the space that you asked for. I get it now. I’m not going to try to tell you what you want. You’re too smart for that. You have to decide what you want for yourself.”

I’ve already decided, and I chose wrong. I chose so, so, disastrously wrong. “I appreciate that, Trent,” you say in a hoarse whisper.

He turns around to go back inside, then hesitates. “Look, I’m glad that you and Aegon are friends now. He’s not a bad guy. But he’s…I mean, he’s a mess, you know? And he’s always going to be a mess. And you can’t expect him to not be a mess. I’m sorry if he ruined something for you tonight. I know your family has sort of temporarily adopted him, and I know you like to fix things. But sometimes there are no bolts to tighten or nails to hammer in. Sometimes people just are who they are.”

You consider Trent, a mirage of bitter cold and firelight. He shrugs, offers a sheepish half-smile, flips his hair, and then retreats inside the house. Minutes later, as you try to choke back sobs under blind stars, you hear cheers and applause when the new millennium arrives.

As car doors slam and guests rummage through piles of coats, you slip mostly unnoticed into the kitchen. You pour yourself a full glass of water, drink all of it, and then make for your purse where your Jeep keys are stashed. You are intercepted in the dining room by your parents and Heather. You try to hide your face, but there’s no point. You are as clear as glass under the yellowish artificial light.

“Oh, ladybug, are you okay?” Your mom engulfs you in a warm, comforting hug that is also constraining. I have to try to find Aegon. I have to confront him. Not who I want him to be, but who he really is.

“I’m fine, Mom. I’m fine. I’ll be back in like a half hour, and then I’ll help you clean up the house.”

“The house!” your dad bellows, barking out a laugh of disbelief. “We aren’t worried about the house! What can we do, ladybug? Is there anything we can do?”

“No, really, I can handle it.”

“You can’t go anywhere alone,” Heather says. “It’s dark, it’s super late.” The other fact hangs in the air like snowflakes. The Ice Fisher might be out there somewhere, just waiting to snatch you off the sidewalk and sink you into a lake.

“It’s just across town, it’s a ten-minute drive, it’s not a big deal.”

“You can’t go out alone,” your dad insists, looking gratefully at Heather. Your mom nods along. “I’m sorry, but if something happened to you, we’d never be able to forgive ourselves.”

“I’ll go,” Heather says. “I think I’ve had too much champaign to drive, but I can ride along and walk you inside.”

“That’s completely unnecessary. I have my bear mace.”

“Then I’ll wait in the Jeep!” Heather throws up her hands, exasperated. “Look, bitch, one way or another someone is going with you. I’ll make sure you get up to his apartment—that’s where you’re going, right? I think we all know that’s where you’re going—and then I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait five minutes, I’ll wait five hours, I really don’t care how long it takes but there is no fucking way you’re driving off into the night alone.”

You aren’t leaving this house without a chaperone. That’s pretty obvious. Aegon doesn’t care where I am or who I’m with. He didn’t even care enough to call and say he wouldn’t be here. “Fine. Okay. But we’re leaving right now.”

You grab your purse and Heather follows you out to the Jeep, struggling to keep up. “I would not have guessed you could move so efficiently in heels,” she puffs, climbing into the passenger’s seat. You tear out of the driveway, tires chomping on salt and ice and snow. Heather tries to make conversation. You don’t quite ignore her; it’s more like you don’t hear her at all. You hear the wind and the snow and the blood rushing in your ears. You hear the shrieking hollowness left by what could have been.

You park under the streetlight outside Aegon’s apartment building, murky luminescence flooding the cabin of your Jeep. Heather sees the inky tears on your face…and she sees the rage too: raw, brutal, razor-sharp rage. “Well, Jesus Christ, don’t kill him or anything.”

You don’t reply. You venture out into the savage cold, your heels leaving deep punctures in the ice-coated snow like stab wounds.

Upstairs, Aegon’s apartment door is locked. You can’t hear anything on the other side. And as you rattle the key he gave you into the jagged slit of the knob, you feel a dark premonition sinking in: a pebble through waves, a body into the depths. There is an instinctual warning that hums from your skin all the way down to your bone marrow.

There is no coming back from this moment. It’s like balancing on a ledge. There is something terrible here that I will never be able to unsee, to undiscover.

What is it? What the hell is it? That Aegon’s drunk? Would that really be so out of character, so inconceivable?

Maybe he’s with another woman. Maybe he’s already left Juneau. Maybe he’s dead.

You open the door; and in the silent florescent light of the kitchen, the first thing you notice is that the jar on top of the refrigerator is gone. Then you spot it: it’s open and sideways on the countertop, and it’s empty. Sunfyre lies on the kitchen’s tile floor with his scarred muzzle resting on his paws. He whimpers, large dark eyes troubled.

“Aegon?” you say. You step inside, your red heels clicking on the scuffed wood. You close the door behind you. Your eyes scan the dimly-lit room—guitar, bed, lifeless television, phone he left off the hook, couch—until you find him. He is a pale, crumpled figure on the floor. “Aegon?!”

You rush to him, dropping to your knees so hard you bruise them. He groans when you roll him over onto his back, so he’s not dead. He’s half-dressed: red leather pants, combat boots, gold chain necklace, no shirt. When you lift your hand from him, blood stains your palm.

“What—?”

And then you see the stripe of maroon dripping down from the crook of his left elbow. There’s a bloodied needle on the floor beside him, a lighter, a spoon. There’s a small transparent baggie half-filled with white powder.

Aegon blinks at you through his tangled hair, pulling himself upright with great effort. Everything about him is heavy, hazy, like trying to run through water. He doesn’t seem aware of the blood. It’s in his hair, you realize; and there’s a smear on his neck, a splattering on his bare chest. “What are you so dressed up for?”

You can’t answer him. You’re so full of horror and rage that if you open your mouth you might start screaming and never stop.

“Oh,” Aegon remembers listlessly. “Party.”

“I watched the door all night like an idiot, like some desperate little kid”—waiting for their father to come home—“and the whole time you were here shooting up.”

He gazes at you, but from a distance, like he’s looking up from the bottom of the ocean and you’re the shadow of a ship. His voice is slow and muddled. “Yeah.”

“And I guess that’s where all the money went. The money for the San Diego trip.”

“Yeah.”

“How fucking dare you,” you hiss. You grab the baggie off the floor.

Aegon’s hand darts out and closes around your wrist. “No—!”

You rip your arm away from him. “This is heroin, right?” You catch a fistful of his hair and yank his head back so you can check his eyes. Aegon flinches and yelps, but he doesn’t struggle. His eyes are bloodshot, his pupils pinpricks in an ocean of deep blue. “How fucking dare you,” you say again. “How fucking dare you.”

You take the baggie to the kitchen sink, shove it down into the drain, turn on the garbage disposal. You run water down the drain until any trace of it is gone. When you return to Aegon, he’s watching you with those dazed, other-world eyes. He’s still slumped over on the floor; he doesn’t seem to be able to stand. He keeps trying to and flopping over.

“If you’re so mad then hit me,” he says. “Just hit me. Just fucking hit me.”

“Why did you have to come here?” you ask, wrenching the question out of you like extracting a molar or a bullet. Fresh tears brim in your eyes; embers kindle in your throat. You think of how hundreds of years ago doctors believed that you could bleed a patient to rid them of poison or disease, and you wonder how much of yourself you would have to spill into a bowl to forget Aegon. You wonder if your mom has ever forgotten a single thing about Jesse: his voice, his fingertips, the way his hair fell across his face. “If you were just going to make me want something that was never possible, if you were just going to show me what it felt like to be real and then take it away, what was the point? What was the goddamn point? Why did you have to come here and ruin my life?”

“You didn’t like your life before I showed up and you won’t like it when I’m gone.”

“I hate you,” you choke out.

Aegon’s jaw falls open. He can’t believe you said it. Neither can you.

“I want you to leave,” you tell him. “Tomorrow when you sober up I want you to pack your things and get on a plane and leave Juneau like you left everywhere else. I don’t want to know where you go next. I don’t want to know anything about you. I never want to see you again.”

“No.” You can’t tell if it’s defiance or denial or confusion. You don’t stay to argue with him.

You go to the apartment door, open it, and call to Sunfyre: “Come on, buddy.” He rockets off the tiles and trots over, tail wagging cautiously.

“Hey, hey, you can’t take my dog!” Aegon shouts, dragging himself towards you. His hands and knees thump against the wooden floor.

“Yes I can. You can’t be trusted with him. You don’t deserve him.”

“Please don’t,” Aegon whispers huskily. “Don’t take him away. Please.”

You twist his apartment key off your keyring and pitch it at him. It strikes his shoulder and ricochets off, clattering across the floor. He looks at it, not understanding. It’s a dead language, it’s an ancient rune he can’t read. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to. “Goodbye, Aegon.”

You slam the door, fly down the building staircase, break into the cold all-consuming darkness with Sunfyre on your heels like a shadow made of gold.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader

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concerningwolves · 6 months

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if you want to experience deep childlike wonder at the infinite variety our world i whole-heartedly recommend glancing through this booklet about lichens in south alaska. there are so many of them. they have wonderful names. they're divided into different growth forms and the names have delightful mouthfeel. one is called fairy barf and looks really pretty. the world is full of little guys who just chill and farm algae <3

#if i don't get to delightedly describe lichens in tkor i will be very sad #lichen

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clanborn · 7 months

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when it comes to the Alaska clans, I assume doctors are allowed mates and kits?

Yes, for the bay clans a doctor is just a normal healing profession, and they have no spiritual role that may involve religious celibacy or anything. Instead, the leaders of the clans serve as religious leaders, and even they are not barred from having a mate and kits. However, though there are no rules against it, many leaders still abstain from these sorts of relationships (for a variety of reasons). None of the current leaders of the clans have mates or kits, though a few have had mates in the past.

#the brookclan doctor brighteyes has a mate and children for example #and in stoneclan its become a family profession. of of the stoneclan doctors has his own son as an apprentice #alaska clans #ask #anon

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anipgarden · 7 months

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The Secret Other Thing: KILL

This is my eighth post in a series I’ll be making on how to increase biodiversity on a budget! I’m not an expert--just an enthusiast--but I hope something you find here helps!

KILL, TEAR, RIP, MAIM.

You may have seen this sentiment a few times on gardening and wildlife blogs and been incredibly confused. Isn’t killing things the opposite of what you should be doing to protect habitats? In some cases, it really is necessary!

Invasive Plants

Invasive plants can do more harm than good, taking up space and nutrients and providing little in return to local wildlife--while spreading and choking out the native plants that would provide the most to our native fauna. Learn how to identify invasive species in your area and how to properly dispose of them, and do so whenever you have the opportunity! You may even be able to find volunteer groups/events where you can join up with like-minded people to remove a specific plant from an area.

(This image refers to the United States specifically--these plants aren't invasive or native everywhere!)

Pro tip, though; if you take out an invasive species and leave empty soil where it was, it’s likely another quick-growing invasive species will just move in. We don’t want that! Try to plant something in its place! If you’re going out on a mission to take out invasive plants, try to keep some native flower seeds or seedlings on your person while you do this work.

Different plants are invasive in different places, so be sure that the plant you're targeting is actually invasive to where you are. You don’t want to rip out a beneficial plant because it’s invasive somewhere else! Social media sites like Instagram and Tumblr are great for spreading information about invasive plants, but they can often be a bit… US-centric. Even I'm guilty of this, plenty of times! Plants like garlic mustard, kudzu, butterfly bush, Amur honeysuckle, wild radish, and Japanese knotweed are high-profile invasive plants that I hear about all the time here in America--but they came from somewhere, and are a part of the environment in these places! Likewise, many plants that are branded as pollinator-friendly and biodiversity boosters here in the states can be awful invasive species elsewhere. Even plants and animals that aren’t invasive in one part of a country or continent can be detrimental in another--Canadian waterweed is native to North America, but it’s actually invasive in Alaska.

(Japanese honeysuckle (Lonicera japonica) vs Coral honeysuckle (Lonicera sempervirens) vs the yellow variety of Coral honeysuckle (Lonicera sempervirens))

Be sure you’re taking out the right plant--be very confident in your ID before you take any action! Amur honeysuckle and Japanese honeysuckle, for example, may be invasive in the US--but coral and northern bush honeysuckles are native and key species in their environments. You don’t want to do harm while trying to do good--double check your IDs. Being certain with your IDs can also prevent you from doing harm to yourself and others--some plants produce toxic smoke when burned. Stay well-read on how to dispose of the invasive plants you’re targeting.

(Garlic mustard pesto! Can't say I've ever had it, but I've heard good things about it online!)

With that being said! Some invasive species can be eaten. It’s free food! And you’re helping the environment? Win-win! Try looking up recipes that use these plants, or see how you can substitute something else for them! Foraging guides and blogs would likely be extremely helpful for this.

A super easy way to help curb the spread of invasive plants is to not grow them yourself! Double check any plant you’re considering buying or growing from seed--some sold in stores like butterfly bush are often touted as great plants to add to a pollinator garden, but in reality are an invasive species that eagerly displaces native shrubs here in the states.

POV: you're working the garden center at the Blue Big Box Store, you care about the environment, and every day you watch people buy Butterfly Bush and can do jack shit about it asides from try to gently steer them towards something else (but the other next best option was also Invasive Tropical Milkweed because its easier for Big Box Store to sell) I have a personal vendetta against people who grow Butterfly Bush (I live in The States) (If you didn't know Butterfly Bush was invasive in the US before now you're valid but also please god consider replacing it with an alternative ASAP)

Invasive Animals

POV 30 to 50 feral hogs are running into your yard within 3-5 minutes while your small children play

Invasive animals and insects compete for resources, take over habitat, and can even spread disease--all while pushing native species out or dwindling their numbers. Keep track of invasive animals you see and report them. Depending on the severity of the situation, killing them can be necessary and even encouraged. Do be sure it’s an invasive species and not a look-alike. If you’re unsure, take pictures, do research, and take action the next time.

Some high-profile invasive species in the US are spotted lanternflies, cuban tree frogs, hammerhead worms, feral swine, zebra mussels, lionfish, asian carp, burmese python, and others. Again, do make sure you’re targeting species that are invasive in your area; I doubt Asian carp are considered invasive in Asia, for example. Similarly, the American bullfrog is native to the eastern US and Canada, but is quickly becoming an invasive species around the rest of the world. Not to mention, the racoon problem in Japan…

Some invasive species can be eaten as well! Some of them taste awful, and some can even be dangerous to eat or handle without caution. I would do a good amount of research online before trying to cook up just anything.

Doing it Right

If you’re trying to handle invasive species, you do have to ensure you’re doing it properly. As you do your research, you’ll likely see if the species should be photographed and reported and to what channels. Also in some cases, going about destroying them incorrectly could unintentionally help them spread--some plants spread quickly through rhizomes into disturbed soil, and hammerhead worms can actually regenerate from pieces into fully-developed new worms when you try to cut them up. Some invasive species are even actively harmful to humans, so I cannot emphasize enough that you need to be sure about what you’re dealing with and be careful about it. Giant Hogweed, for example, has toxic sap that’ll cause severe skin inflammation and painful blisters if it contacts skin and is exposed to sunlight. The blisters last for months, and the skin may develop long-term sensitivity for sunlight.

If you’re unsure about how to handle an invasive plant, or are unsure of it’s identity, try contacting your local university co-op extension service if you’re in the states. They can tell you how to remove it safely and effectively. I can't say for sure what other channels would be the best option for someone living outside the states, so if anyone knows, feel free to chime in!

Pets

POV: ur little outdoor kitty Firestar is destroying the balance of your local ecosystem plz keep him INSIDE

Please keep your pets inside, or at least on a leash. An outdoor cat can do a lot more damage than one might imagine, as well as unrestrained dogs.

That’s the end of this post! And... technically, the last post in the series! My next and final final post is gonna be basically a giant list of all my sources that I used to make this post! I hope this post series was informative, helpful, interesting--anything of value, really! Feel free to reply with any questions, your success stories, or anything you think I may have forgotten to add in!

#biodiversity #solarpunk #gardening #invasive species #ani rambles #out of queue #the biodiversity saga #i wasn't sure where to add this in on the post but not all non natives are invasive and some native plants have sorta invasive-y habits #i dont remember the proper term that isn't just 'invasive-y' but yknow.#with that being said I tend to do a quick google search to make sure a plant I wanna buy isn't invasive before I add it to my garden #with that being said fuck big box stores STOP SELLING INVASIVE PLANTS I SWEAR TO GOD I DONT CARE IF THEY'RE POPULAR STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT #someday I will go on an entire unhinged rant about tropical milkweed #ive already done it before but I'm willing to do it again fuck it #anyways!!!! this is the last post if you don't wanna read Collection Of Links: The Musical so uh #hope this was a nice series with helpful information!! love yall byeeee

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serene-sun · 1 year

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Please, we need your help. The willow project is a project being viewed by the President in this moment, the plan is to sell ALASKA and its land, homes, and WILDLIFE for oil drilling. The project will produce up to 180,000 barrels of oil a day, according to the company — about 1.5% of total U.S. oil production. But in Alaska, Willow represents the biggest oil field in decades. What’s the problem with that? Project opponents point to its potential impact on global climate change. Environmental impact documents conclude that if the oil produced by Willow is burned, it would create 260 million metric tons of carbon dioxide. Exposure to CO2 can produce a variety of health effects. These may include headaches, dizziness, restlessness, a tingling or pins or needles feeling, difficulty breathing, sweating, tiredness, increased heart rate, elevated blood pressure, coma, asphyxia, various cancers, and convulsions. Once the plan is approved, climate change will be irreversible and unfixable no matter the effort. But the only way we can stop this is if 189 more environmentalists and citizens like you sign our petition before it's too late. We only have one month left before it’s approved, without your help- the human race will suffer more than it ever has. Don’t let old white men in the government decide the fate of generations, and centuries of human history and cellular evolution. I’m asking you not as a fellow american citizen, but as a human being- take a few minutes to end the end from consuming life as we know it.

Plz reblog so we can get as many signatures as possible!!

#stopwillow

#stopwillow #stop willow #stop willow project #climate change #climate change activism #environmetalists #enviromental #environment #protect them at all costs #protect the environment #the world ends with you #end climate change #American environment #petition #serene sun environment

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foxy-eva · 8 months

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Milestone Masterlist

I want to thank everyone who participated in my second Milestone Writing Challenge! I had so much fun reading all those stories and I'm more than happy to share them with everyone else.

Fics marked with * contain smut, so minors DNI!

Spencer Reid x Reader

The Mother Wound by @imagining-in-the-margins

Prompt: Nobody said healing would be easy but they had no idea it would be this hard

Summary: Spencer and Reader bond over having emotionally absent mothers

The image of them as children making it through the dark is very touching. It's a beautifully written, bittersweet story with the ability to bring hope to those who need it.

Crazy Ex by @c-m-stuff

Prompt: Person A needs to find B before it’s too late

Summary: You and Spencer are together. When you found strange pictures of the two of you, you knew, this wasn't good

This story depicts the emotions of Spencer's girlfriend really well. I also love the team dynamics, everyone is trying to do their best despite being terrified of losing Spencer.

Rumoured Nights * by @fortheloveofwonderland

Prompt: Someone has to unexpectedly share a hotel room with their favorite coworker - who apparently really likes to cuddle

Summary: A case in a small town in Alaska forces you and your favourite coworker into sharing a room and a bed. And according to Morgan, Spencer likes to cuddle.

This fic has everything I want for a prompt like this - mutual pining, a bit of awkwardness, everyone knowing except for them and then finally them acting on their desires. I also love the team dynamics you added to the story!

Emily Prentiss x Reader

Dar+ling by @leahseclipse

What a cute story! I really like how comfortable they are with each other. Even though Emily usually is more hesitant to show her feelings, she clearly feels safe around Reader here

Prompt: Person A finally confesses their feelings for B, who has wanted to do just the same for weeks

Summary: Emily finally gets the courage to confess their feelings to the reader, who has just wanted to do it too for a while

Emily Prentiss x Jennifer Jareau

The Way You Felt by @andiebeaword

What a wonderful story! I really like the way you describe their relationship without trying to sugarcoat it. I have a similar view on Jemily - they just weren't meant to have a happy end.

Prompt: Even though their love seemed to never be enough, Person A and B can't let go of each other

Summary: While on a flight to help Spencer, exes J.J. and Emily ultimately come to terms with their buried feelings

Emily Prentiss x Aaron Hotchner

Dance With Me by @pandorasdreamings

I really appreciate it when Emily's complex backstory is mentioned in fics. She is such an interesting person to explore further, especially in the context of her relationships with other characters.

Prompt: Person A thinks they are not worth being taken care of. Person B proves the opposite

Summary: Emily is trying to move on and be happy, but her past keeps creeping up on her. Maybe the solution to her sadness has been in front of her the whole time

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

4 AM by @hotchs-bitch

I absolutely love the softness and delicacy of this story. We rarely see Aaron's vulnerable side and you did a perfect job showing us just that in such a sweet way.

Prompt: Person A didn't know where else to go in a time of need, so they ring B's doorbell

Summary: When Aaron's marriage crumbles and he finds himself alone, there's only one person he wants to turn to

Aaron Hotchner x Haley Hotchner

Question of Timing * by @codename-mom

I always thought Hotch and Haley's relationship is very interesting but I never really considered what it would be like from her perspective. It's nice to get some variety!

Prompt: The couple decides to expand their family

Summary: Aaron finally agreed to make Haley a mother and she realised that the d-day is now. The issue is: how to convinced a husband afraid AF to be a father to do the last step?

Aaron Hotchner x Derek Morgan

Drown in my Dreams by @masterwords

I was genuinely moved by your story and your writing style. The way you show how vulnerable both men are in a difficult situation like that is very touching.

Prompt: Person A has never shown any weakness until they can’t hold back their tears anymore. Person B is there to wipe them away

Summary: After dealing with Mr. Scratch, Derek just wants to put Hotch on his bike and get the hell out of town. So he does

Aaron Hotchner & Penelope Garcia

Nocturnal Wandering by @codename-mom

I like the way you described the dynamics between Hotch and Garcia. I always thought that their friendship was really special (and very underrated).

Prompt: Person A has never shown any weakness until they can’t hold back their tears anymore. Person B is there to wipe them away

Summary: Garcia was about to leave the sixth floor of Quantico, late at night, when she discovered that someone else was still there. Someone who was not into a good mood and clearly need some help.

Please make sure to like and reblog these fics to show all those lovely writers some love!

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds smut #criminal minds angst #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #emily prentiss #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

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thorraborinn · 2 years

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This might not be your area of expertise but do you know anything about the “land bridge” theory that claims that indigenous people got to the so called Americas by a frozen land bridge between Russia and Alaska? Idk if it’s just me but I’ve always felt that theory was always used as a way to be dismissive towards indigenous peoples.

Yeah, it definitely is not my area of expertise. There's a whole history of the theory being pushed and opponents being belittled that I don't really know. I think most Americans probably still don't know that it's discredited, and probably fewer know what was wrong about it beside being merely incorrect. I don't really want to get into it much because, like I said, the theory has its own history that I don't know well enough to talk about.

I will add a little clarification though, because some people reading this will probably be surprised to learn that the Bering Strait land bridge theory (that all of the Indigenous peoples of the Americas descend from a group who crossed the Bering Strait from northeast Asia some 13,000 years ago) is discredited. Many Indigenous people have always objected to this, for a variety of reasons but including that it conflicts with their oral histories. The academic consensus has finally caught up in recent decades as discoveries have been made of settlements (in areas extremely far from Alaska, no less, as far south as so-called Chile) predating the time when the land bridge would have been passable. The current scientific consensus is that there isn't a single event or explanation, and some of the oral histories that were previously regarded as unsuitable for determining truth have been vindicated. In particular, some nations' histories include an arrival on the continent over the ocean, which western academics used to consider impossible on grounds of Indigenous people not being advanced enough, which is a bunch of racist horseshit. While they now no longer represent the consensus, there are still holdouts still pushing to discredit the evidence of earlier settlement (the "Clovis First" theory). I also want to add that while the scientific consensus has come to overlap with some Indigenous oral histories, vindicating those oral histories in the process, oral history isn't important and valuable because it turns out to be "true" in a way understood by western history; that's still only granting legitimacy on a contingent basis in situations where correspondence to western notions of truth and history just aren't the point.

People who know more, feel free to add. I don't feel qualified to talk about it much more but I do encourage people to look into it themselves.

A little bit of a side-note but heathens following me will be interested to know that the Kinnewick man, about whom Steve McNallen had a very public racist tantrum trying to prove he was an ancestor of white people, is implicated here. The controversy came about because the Kinnewick man's physiology did not conform to what was predicted by the land bridge theory (note: this was three years after Trump's "They don't look like Indians to me" testimony). After violating the wishes of the Kinnewick man's actual descendants and subjecting the remains to intense study and genetic testing it predictably turned out that he was in fact an ancestor of still-living Indigenous people and those archaeologists should have kept their hands off, like they had been told.

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mammalianblog · 1 year

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Types of Bears:

Black Bears:

The American Black Bear (Ursus americanus) is a medium-sized bear species native to (you guessed it!) North America. Black Bears can be found in the forests as south as Florida and as North as Alaska. Being so widely distributed it’s no surprise that their population is twice the size of all the other bear species combined! Males generally weigh up to 500lbs, while females weigh up to 300lbs. The heaviest bear on record was found in North Carolina in 1998, weighing in at 880 lbs. Despite what their name may lead you to believe, they actually come in many different colors! They can be cinnamon, blonde, kermode or glacier bears as well as black! These bears are omnivores but their diet varies greatly depending on season, location, etc. They may eat berries, carrion nuts, insect larvae, fish, grasses, and small mammals. Although an adult Black Bear is quite capable of killing a person, they typically avoid any interaction or confrontations with humans. Attempts to relocate American black bears are typically unsuccessful, as the bears are able to return to their home range, even without familiar landscape cues.

Brown Bears:

The Brown Bear (Ursus arctos) is a species of large bear found across North America and Eurasia. In North America, the populations of brown bears are called grizzly bears, while the even larger subspecies that inhabits the Kodiak Islands of Alaska is known as the Kodiak bear. The largest populations are are in Russia with 120,000, the United States with 32,500, and Canada with around 25,000. Males generally weigh up to 600lbs , while females weigh up to 350lbs with the largest Brown Bear on record was a Kodiak that weighed 1,656 lbs. The Brown Bear is omnivorous and has been recorded consuming the greatest variety of foods of any bear. They may eat fish, carrion, insects, fungi, berries, flowers, nuts and small-medium sized mammals. Brown Bears do go out of their way to avoid humans but are much more likely to attack than Black Bears. They are formidable indeed, with females being extremely quick to aggression when with cubs.

Sloth Bear:

The Sloth Bear (Melursus ursinus), also known as the Indian bear, is a medium-sized bear species native to the Indian subcontinent. Their population inhabits the forests and grasslands of India, the Terai of Nepal, Bhutan and Sri Lanka. Males generally weigh up to 380lbs, while females weigh up to 210lbs with the biggest Sloth Bear on record weighing 423 lbs. Sloth Bears are considered myrmecophagous, meaning they feed on ants and termites. It has also been called the “labiated bear" because of its long lower lip and palate used for sucking up insects. They also may eat fruits and flowers. The Sloth Bear is one of the most aggressive bears alive which is likely due to the large human populations living so close to their habitats. These attacks are pretty frequent and if not fatal, the victim is often left terribly disfigured, as the bear strikes at the head and face.

Andean Bear:

The Andean Bear (Tremarctos ornatus) also known as the Spectacled Bear is a species of medium-sized bear native to the Andes Mountains in western South America. It is the only living species of bear native to South America, and the last remaining short-faced bear. Males generally weigh up to 340lbs, while females weigh up to 190 lbs with the largest Andean Bear on record weighing 440 lbs. Andean Bears are omnivores, eating small mammals, birds, and berries with their favorite foods being fruits and bromeliads. There have never been any reported attacks on humans.

Sun Bear:

The Sun Bear (Helarctos malayanus) is a species of small bear native to the tropical forests of Southeast Asia. They can grow up to be 150 lbs with males being 1/3 larger than the females. Sun bears get their name from the characteristic cream coloured chest patch! They are the most arboreal natured of all the bears with long claws fit for climbing trees. They feed omnivorously on insects, berries, fruits and mammals. They do not seem to hibernate, possibly because food resources are available the whole year throughout the range. Sun bears are shy and reclusive animals, and usually do not attack humans unless provoked to do so.

Polar Bear:

The Polar Bear (Ursus maritimus) is a species of large bear native to the Arctic Circle. Males generally weigh up to 1,200lbs, while females weighing up to 700lbs with the largest Polar Bear record weighing 2,209 lbs. Although most polar bears are born on land, they spend most of their time on the sea ice. Their scientific name means "maritime bear" and derives from this fact. Polar Bears are hypercarnivorous feeding primarily on ringed seals, but will also eat bearded seals, harp seals, hooded and harbor seals. Larger prey species such as walrus, narwhal and beluga are occasionally hunted. Due to location, attacks on humans are infrequent but potential chances of survival are very low. “If it’s black: fight back, if it’s brown: lay down, if it’s white: goodnight.”

(I'm experiencing a minor bear hyperfixation, if you can't tell!!! I hope this was beary educational for you ROFLROFLROFL)

#bear #bears #educational #grizzly bear #polar bear #black bear #spirit bear #sun bear #sloth bear #spectacled bear

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uwmspeccoll · 1 year

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Native American/First Nations Woman Writer of the Week

NORA MARKS DAUENHAUER

Continuing on our trek through what remains of March, I offer you another Indigenous woman writer, Nora Marks Keixwnéi Dauenhauer (1927-2017), a Tlingit writer from Juneau, Alaska. Born in Juneau, Dauenhauer grew up there as well as in Hoonah, Alaska with a father who was a fisherman and carver, and a mother who was a beader. Dauenhauer lived at times with her parents on a fishing boat and in seasonal camps. Being a member of the Tlingit tribe, her first language was Łingít, and she did not learn English until she was eight.

Following her mother in the Tlingit matrilineal system, she was a member of the Raven moiety of the Tlingit nation, of the Yakutat Lukaax̱.ádi (Sockeye Salmon) clan, of the Shaka Hít or Canoe Prow House, from Alsek River. She was chosen as clan co-leader of Lukaax̱.ádi (Sockeye Salmon) in 1986 and as trustee of the Raven House and other clan property. She was then given the title Naa Tláa (Clan Mother) in 2010, becoming the ceremonial leader of the clan.

Dauenhauer earned a BA in anthropology from Alaska Methodist University in Anchorage. In the early 1970s, she married poet and Tlingit scholar Richard Dauenhauer and together they made significant contributions to preserve the Tlingit oral traditions in their Classics of Tlingit Oral Literature book series. Nora Dauenhauer became a Tlingit language researcher for the Native Language Center at the University of Alaska, Fairbanks from 1972-1973, and then became the principal researcher in language and cultural studies at the Sealaska Heritage Foundation in Juneau from 1983-1997.

On the subject of preserving the Tlingit oral tradition and its importance, Dauenhaur said:

People are now beginning to take action for language and cultural survival, and my work is to help provide inspiration and tools for this through my writing.

Dauenhauer had several accomplishments, including being named the 1980 Humanist of the Year by the Alaska Humanities Forum. Together, the Dauenhauers were awarded the Alaska Governor’s Award for the Arts, two American Book Awards, and a Before Columbus Foundation American Book Award. In 2005, Nora Dauenhauer was the recipient of the Community Spirit Award from the First People’s Fund.

As a poet, Nora Dauenhauer published two collections, one of which we hold in Special Collections, Life Woven With Song, published by the University of Arizona Press in 2000 (the other is The Droning Shaman, Black Current Press, 1989). This book recreates the oral tradition of the Tlingit people through written language in a variety of literary forms, and records memories of Dauenhauer’s heritage from old relatives and Tlingit elders, to trolling for salmon and preparing food in the dryfish camps and making a living by working in canneries.

Author Photo is by Hulleah Tsinhnahjinnie

See other writers we have featured in Native American/First Nations Woman Writer of the Week.

View other posts from our Native American Literature Collection.

-- Elizabeth V., Special Collections Undergraduate Writing Intern

#Native American/First Nations Woman Writer of the Week #women's history month #Native Americans #Native American writers #Native American women writers #Nora Marks Dauenhauer #Richard Dauenhauer #Tlingit #Life Woven With Song #University of Arizona Press #Alaskan writers #poets #poetry #Elizabeth V.#Native American Literature Collection

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sasster · 5 months

Text

Blow Out

Can you believe no one asked who his doctor is?

[Here’s the doc!]

Trollkind is remarkably advanced across a variety of fields, but all that galaxy-spanning innovative thinking must have stopped just outside the doors of every medical waiting room. The one the purple blood sits in is no different than any other one on or off of Alternia.

The fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling buzz in time with a bare gray wall that seems to pulse with the heart rate of a patient circling the drain. If not for a television that droned on some news channel rattling off its heavy dose of fleet propaganda, muffled by distance, and the sheer veil that covered his face, it would have all been entirely too much for Retcon to handle. It is all quite the scene for the waiting room’s three denizens; The one receptionist and the two worse for wear psions awaiting their teal blooded savior to deliver them from their respective agonies.

In the furthest possible seat from the other two, Retcon fidgets idly with a loose string that juts out from the uncomfortably firm chair he occupies. He works hard to focus on the diluted voice that comes from the television, but can’t seem to make the information fit into his head in a way that even pretends to make sense. To say nothing of the tinnitus like ringing that has plagued his ears for the last handful of days.

In some attempt to prevent feeding into his migrane, which interestingly throbs at the same pace that the lights and wall move, he delegates his attention to the loose thread that he twirls around his index and middle digits. He allows this to be his tether to the breathing waiting room.

Across the room, suddenly louder than the droning of the news channel, the receptionist belts out an unintelligible string of words. Through the filter the ringing in his ears has become, it sounds more like someone in the middle of drowning calling out for help.

Retcon’s attention stays on the stray string. He coils it around his fingers tight enough that their tips begin to pale from the lack of blood flow.

The receptionist speaks again, an even louder version of her best impression of a fish out of water, but an anchor on the TV says something about a rebel syndicate taken down a few days ago and issues a warning to anyone that has ever rubbed elbows with them.

The lights buzz louder.

A door opens.

A conversation joins the choir of noise that slams into him like a truck, about five hundred miles away, at the receptionist’s desk.

Now someone somewhere in the room sighs.

Not being paid enough for this, the woman then says something that sounds suspiciously like someone shouting “Webcam,” from the bottom of a well.

He winces at the sound and focuses instead on the light gray the tips of his fingers have become.

Miraculously, a familiar voice strikes through the white noise that the world has become.

“Ten forty-nine?”

Within a second of his identification numbers hitting his ears, Retcon’s attention snaps up to find the source. Partially obscured by the sheer of the veil, he can just make out the shape of the doctor, staring directly in his direction with a smile on his face.

“There he is, come on back with me.”

He stands.

Somewhere between ten seconds and three hours pass in how long it takes him to traverse the twenty-five feet that separate him from the doctor.

Alaska waits patiently; his unwavering smile makes it impossible to tell how long that wait actually is. In the meantime, he does turn his attention to the news broadcast very briefly before giving a thoughtful hum and switching the channel to something a little easier on the brain.

Soft instrumentals fill the waiting area, quickly alleviating some of the pressure building up behind Retcon’s eyes.

When he does get to the doctor, a hand claps gently over his shoulder and leads him the rest of the way to the examination room and onto a table.

The doctor takes his own seat on a very lively rolling stool that he scoots over to the counter his bag is on and starts to dig into it for his equipment. “Talk to me, Retcon,” he says from within the depths of the bag.

“It’s too loud in here.” The psion manages, indicating the harshness of the much brighter light in this room than the previous one.

“I can’t exactly work in the dark here,” he replies, wheeling back over to him to hand off a pair of light filtering glasses. “Did you lose the last pair?”

Retcon nods and lifts his veil just long enough to put the glasses on and drops it again.

“Is that better?”

“It’s better.”

“So, I take it you overdid it again?” The question is more like a statement of fact delivered with a soft chuckle.

He does not wait for a response as he starts to set his instruments in a prep tray next to him. Odds and ends Retcon wouldn’t be able to name in his right mind, let alone his current condition, clang into the metal tray despite the doctor’s best efforts to lay them in gently.

Retcon winces.

“I think I broke it again.”

“You think?”

“I definitely broke it again.”

Alaska nods, his demeanor does not shift. He takes a second to inspect the blade of a tool that Retcon does not know the name of before turning to fully face him again. “Do you remember what I told you that your limit is?”

“Twenty, twenty-five. Depending. I could get away with thirty if I don’t do them all at once.” He recites what must have been his mantra for the last couple hundred sweeps as easy as breathing air. “More if I spread it throughout a week.”

“Right. How many did you do this time?”

“Fifty.”

“Fif--” The doctor swipes a hand over his own forehead, the motion largely conceals it if his expression shifts on any perceptible level. “Fifty? All at once?”

He nods.

“You definitely broke it.” Alaska echoes his earlier sentiment.

Retcon swings his legs idly and watches the floor pulse toward and away from his feet, choosing the nausea that comes along with it over tuning in to the lecture he is about to receive.

The chiding will no doubt be a gentle one, but when you’ve been someone’s patient for long enough, after the first half century, the lectures start to sound the same. They always seem to sound to the tune of: You’ll fry your brain. The device does not have the memory for that. We really need you to stick to these restrictions. Are you listening?

Are you listening?

Retcon is brought back by the doctor snapping his fingers just within his field of view.

“Ten forty-nine, can you hear me? Remind them of your limits next time.”

“Can’t you just make it stronger? That’s what they want.”

Alaska’s gaze turns into a sympathetic one.

“We’d both like it if I could just slap a fifty petabyte block of memory in your head, but the technology’s not there yet Retcon,” he starts, gentle hands moving to assist him in laying back. “Frying your brain every couple of perigees doesn’t look good on applications for funding towards it, either.”

The doctor wheels his chair over to the usual blindspot, and quips something obligatory to Retcon before pushing a needle into the soft spot behind his earlobe. Retcon hardly reacts as the sharp pain starts and then subsides, his head flooding with a numbing agent he must have heard the name of some sweeps ago.

“I need you to help me help you, alright? Now, hold still.”

#coko writes sometimes #retcon #uhhh #long post #uhhhhhhh… thankies spec for helping with typos and grammar edits :3 #uhmm… yeah!#you guys know that doctor guy!!!

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